Borderline Strangers
by ZuksGaia
Summary: Bellatrix, after discovering she is infertile, decides to take a certain child sitting on a doorstep for her own one night. Severus thinks he might have found the missing child - but can he convince Ophiuchus Lestrange that he is really Harry Potter?


This is something of my... getting-back-into-fanfiction story. I haven't really written fiction in nearly a year, and chaptered fics in nearly two years, so I hope you'll forgive any little quirks on my part.

This is my response to ObsidianEmbrace's "Mother Bella" challenge on Potions & Snitches. I hope all of you enjoy it!

I will try to update weekly, but being as it may, I cannot guarantee that I will always update perfectly on-time. I hope that I can have new chapters by Friday each week. I also can't guarantee that they'll be of consistant lengths - I've resolved to 'go with the flow' with this fic and let chapters end where they end, but I'll try to give you a good bit to chew on every week.

There are a handful of OC's in this fic, but their roles are fairly small (at least for now) so I hope you don't mind them. They are somewhat on the sinister side...

This being a Lestrange heavy fic, and, consequently, something of a baddie!Harry fic, there will be kidnapping, violence, etc., which I will give suitable warnings for each chapter. It'll be dark, but maybe it'll all turn out good in the end... we'll see.

I'd also like to think my best friend and moral support Jassy K. Graywords for motivating me through writing this. Love you!

Finally... **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, Severus Snape, or anything within Ms. Rowling's fantastic universe (although I do call dibs on Snape and Lily's secret non-canonical lovechild)... *cough* Okay, so I own nothing. Enjoy.

--

A crease formed in Rodolphus Lestrange's brow; it was the first of many that would contort the features of a man that, to some, was considered reasonably handsome.

He had thought that, upon receiving such news, that she would be pleased… that she might even be _happy_. After all, she certainly bore no love for _him_ – why would she wish to share anything with _him_?

And, quite frankly, _he_ wasn't sure he wanted to share anything with _her_. They had wed for one thing: power. It was that simple. Power through purity: that was how it had been done through the ages. Of course, their blood wouldn't be carrying itself any further, especially not _now_.

He had failed to consider the extent of the obsession she bore… not for himself, of course. His wife was unabashedly in love with another man. He knew that whatever place his blood and looks might have brought him to, it didn't matter, not next to _him_.

_That man_, of course, felt nothing for her in return. She was one of his favorite puppets… a pet. He summoned her to his side like a shiny accessory, and she was glad, honored, to be regarded as such; after all, there was no other person who held such power. And it was power that ran things. It was power which fueled the Lestranges.

He kept his lips sealed tightly as he heard her screaming stretch down the corridor, and priceless family heirloom after priceless family heirloom clatter to the floor in her fury. The moaning would likely have warded off a ship full of sirens and banshees, her cries bore such a disfigured wretchedness.

His mind simply fogged. He had convinced himself she didn't _want_ children. She certainly didn't _like_ them. He had watched her with many of them before; throwing them around and telling stories for a few minutes before discarding them, being the undersized playthings she saw them as. He knew she didn't want any children with him.

But now, it seemed, a dream had fallen out in front of her; she invariably wanted to bear _his_ child. The Dark Lord's child. Rodolphus knew, of course, that the Dark Lord would probably never wish for a child, and certainly not from someone as foolish as his wife. If any of their… _ceremonies of highest reward _were to ever result in such spawn she would likely be ordered to abort it. And of course, she would gladly comply. Her imaginary baby was likely already negated before she was even alive to dream it up.

The woman in question spun around the corner and chucked a shard of porcelain (was that his great grandmother's urn-?) at his head; still swift and youthful, he dodged it, and, ignoring her despair, trotted over to his bedroom, cast the usual, heavy guarding spells over it, and went to bed.

--

Death eaters were being rounded up. The papers bore titles, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Dead". Bellatrix Lestrange carried out her work as if nothing had happened.

It had been at the home of the Potters, which held inside a Bloodtraitor and Mudblood and their Halfling child. The Dark Lord had apparently vanquished the first two villains with ease, but for whatever reason, his curse had backfired when he cast it upon the infant.

Those amongst Voldemort's supporters who were not cowardly openly wished this horrid creature death… He, a wretched and impure baby, had overcome their Dark Lord. Of course, Bellatrix thought differently than most in _all_ situations.

It shouldn't have surprised him, but it did – in fact, it startled him tremendously.

"What is that thing?" Rodolphus gasped, "What are you doing with it?"

"It's a baby," Bellatrix replied swiftly, and it was. But Rodolphus knew better. It couldn't _just_ be a baby. There had to be something more to it if it was cradled in the arms of Bellatrix Lestrange.

His eyes bulged open when he saw the scar on its head.

"It's that Potter child! Why are you carrying the murderous Halfling that killed the Dark Lord?"

"HOW _DARE_ you say the Dark Lord is DECEASED." She howled, causing a whimpering cry to come from the bundle in her arms.

"NOTHING can defeat our Lord. He is merely _fallen back_. He is taking the time now to rest and to strategize, to accumulate his power, but it is impossible for him to be _dead_. He is _all-powerful_."

Rodolphus scoffed and paced in a small circle.

"Then why do you have it?" he asked with a hitch of hysterics that was more normal in his wife's voice.

"Why do you have the – _bloody_ – 'Boy-who-lived'?"

A soft but twisted smile swept instantly over Bellatrix's face as she stared down the child in her arms and teasingly flitted her fingers over him.

"It's quite simple," she whispered, dangerously low, "He's ours now. The boy-who-lived dies today…"

She turned to look at Rodolphus and her smile stretched without boundary; he continued to gape back at her, with his fury dissolving into either disgust or concern.

"And _our_ child shall be _born_, Rodolphus…"

For a moment it was just quiet.

So _that_ was what she was up to.

"Why, though?" he asked, finally. "Why would you _want_ the filthy little half-blood that -" he bore his teeth briefly, "- sent our Lord into_ hiding_?"

"Obviously, he's meant for great things… but no one ever said what kind. The Dark Lord thought that he might be a threat, but it occurred to me, I thought… an infant… no mind in it yet, really… he might be a threat, or… he might be the greatest weapon we could possibly have at our disposal…"

The gears clicked into place behind Rodolphus' eyes.

"And, say if it could work… wouldn't change him being a halfblood."

Bellatrix's smile shrank into a grimace.

"Half of what makes 'em so filthy is the grimy mudbloods raising them filthy. It hasn't got a mind quite yet, I've already said. We can fix it so he isn't one in his head… fix his body, too… After all they can't know that we've taken who we've taken… And then he'll be our good little pureblooded boy, ready to serve the Dark Lord and aid him in his conquests."

She smiled with a false sweetness and heartily shoved the bundle into his arms; it let out a cry which she quickly silenced with a spell.

"It's like a disease that we can cure." she said, her eyes boring up at his. Rodolphus stared at her doubtfully for a moment before replying quietly.

"We can treat it, but it'll still be there." he swallowed as she walked off, humming to herself.

"Hey, woman." he barked. She spun around as if she had been planning to all along.

"What are we naming this boy," he asked. "Our… child?"

Her wretched smile broadened.

"Ophiuchus, the Serpent Bearer. He will serve the Dark Lord graciously."

--

1991.

"How can you still cling to hope so foolishly, old man?" Severus exclaimed, massaging his temple. He was sitting in a cozy chair in Dumbledore's office, while the noted man paced back and forth across his study.

"I don't believe that Harry is dead, Severus." Dumbledore stated simply.

"And why not?" Severus cried. "You leave the child on a doorstop in a muggle neighborhood in the middle of the night, where anything could have happened to him, the boy vanishes without a trace, and you think we should presume that the boy is safe and sound somewhere? I _highly_ doubt it!"

As usual, Dumbledore was completely outside of actual rationale. As usual, it was frustrating Severus more and more every minute.

"Beyond that, every plot you've had to find the boy has completely _backfired_."

"I realize the odds are stacked against us, Severus." Dumbledore said, the whimsicalness missing from his voice, although none of the gentleness.

"But soon the year will be starting where he is of age to attend school."

Severus raised a brow skeptically.

"You believe the boy will simply come onto the train and walk into the great hall, 'Actually, I'm doing just fine'?"

"Perhaps."

Snape's features contorted into a frustrated scowl. Part of him wanted to continue to shoot down the unlikelihood of Dumbledore's ideas; another part of him wanted to walk out the door and simply dismiss himself from the situation. As a result, he sat in his chair silently, his mouth clamped tightly shut.

"I however am not so delusional as to believe he will necessarily attend Hogwarts." Dumbledore said mutely. Severus lifted his gaze. "If he does not arrive at our school – and I am aware of the likelihood that he will not – I would like to investigate if he is attending any other schools."

Severus did not allow his scowl to lessen.

"You do not believe that we can check every wizarding school in the globe, do you?"

The Headmaster took this moment to smirk.

"No, of course not… but I would like to check our neighboring schools in Europe, particularly the schools we hold sorority with." He turned to Severus. "I know that you do not have much faith in this, Severus… but promises are promises."  
The scowl fell of Snape's face instantly. He had not been expecting that card to be played.

"If Harry is still out there, it is up to the two of us to find him."

Dumbledore looked down at Severus, who was now staring gravely at the floor. The twinkle in his eyes sparked back up again. After a long moment, Severus spoke.

"I only hope that you are not disappointed."

"I can only hope that for both of us." Dumbledore amended. Approaching slowly, he placed a hand on Severus' shoulder. He allowed it there for a moment before pulling away, standing up as he did so.

"Have you… made arrangements?" he said almost timidly, the usual acridity missing from his tone. "I can only presume that you would be sending _me_ off for such an investigation, and after school has just begun, no less."

"You needn't worry about that. Professor McGonagall and Professor Sinistra will exchange substituting over your class while you are absent."

"I'm sure they will perform valiantly." Snape drawled, his usual tone recovered.

Dumbledore beamed warmly at him, and Severus felt himself quickly regaining the usual irritation he held with the man.

"If there is nothing else to discuss, I should be heading back to my quarters," he said a bit exasperated, nearly bumping into one of Dumbledore's many spinning, whirring instruments.

"Perhaps in a moment, Severus. But there are a few more things I'd like to discuss…"

Reluctant but obedient, Severus withered down into his seat again as the two began discussing the matters of Nicolas Flamel's Philosopher's Stone, and the continued but slim suspicion that the man who marked Harry Potter might also still be alive…

--

After his parents' imprisonment, Ophiuchus Lestrange became a ward of the state, and was swiftly adopted by a couple which shortly thereafter immigrated to France. The two decided to take position as 'aunt' and 'uncle' rather than parents. After all, young Ophi's 'aunt' was none other than Rodolphus's sympathetic third cousin, Asceline Lestrange Dicey.

Although both Asceline and her husband, Marion Dicey, held high monetary wealth, neither was very interested in material goods. The two lived in a remote and moderately sized home in Southern France, which looked quite unkempt; there was a great amount of ivy which climbed along the exterior of the building. The Victorian siding was a ghastly faded mauve that had likely been charmed to not need repainting when the house was constructed, although that had clearly worn off.

The inside of the home was ragged and stark with scantly dispersed pieces of gaudy antique furniture, most of which retained a slight film of dust. It seemed the only rooms which received any visiting were the bedrooms and the large study: a room which took up perhaps a quarter of the house lined with volumes and volumes of ancient and dark wizarding tomes.

Off to the side of the house was a dying building which resembled a barn; in it was perhaps the only signal of the Dicey's true interests outside of the study. In here were a small assortment of heavily barred cages filled with exotic, dangerous, and dark creatures, including Mr. Dicey's pride and joy, a female manticore, and a Peruvian Vipertooth which he fed a steady diet of high-quality goat and cattle.

It was here that Ophi was raised. His adoptive relatives spent little time with him. Asceline spent the majority of her time away from the home attending suspicious business, while Marion was left to care for the child. He spent most of his time taking care of his 'pets' instead, and when he did spend time with the boy, it was usually to study. Marion, who considered himself a clever tradesman, insisted that the child maintain proficient fluency in at least six languages. He was delighted to discover this number was actually one greater, when a seven-year-old Ophi pulled him to the family 'animal room' to demonstrate he could hold a conversation with their recently acquired Black Mamba. This triggered an onslaught of purchasing serpents on Marion's part, which allowed the boy more time with him, although when the boy tired of conversation, he was pushed out to continue his human language studies.

It was at this point that Ophiuchus grew tired of being ignored and having little to do outside of speak, read, and study. The boy relished in library which had been, for the most part, his entire home, but his life was uncannily dull. It was not long after he was discovered to speak Parseltongue that he inquired to his Aunt Asceline and Uncle Marion about his parents. And while most legal guardians of the child of convicted mass murderers would sugar-coat the truth or dismiss the subject, Asceline Dicey was not such a person, and so she explained carefully to him the nature of his parents' conviction.

Ophiuchus accepted the truth without any reply, and left to his room from dinner in silent contemplation. Any other child would likely be disturbed by the news that their parents were convicted killers with life sentences, but the boy who was raised by two basic acquaintances -borderline strangers – and the musty whispers of a thousand ancient wizards of questionable morals and societal merit lay down in his bed, frankly intrigued. Just what sorts of people were these two, who had forged his flesh and blood?

And so Ophiuchus fell asleep, unaware of how much his flesh was, in fact, a forgery.

--

What do you guys think of Ophiuchus? It's Oh-fee-you-cuss or Oh-fie-you-cuss as far as I can tell, so you can pick whichever you prefer. While it's unclear exactly what this constellation (the thirteenth zodiac constellation, by the way) symbolizes, the most popular theories are Asclepius, the demi-god of medicine and healing, who learned to pick medicinal herbs from serpents, or Laocoon, who, along with his two sons, was killed by two giant serpents in The Aeneid. Personally, I think that Bella has devised her own interpretation...


End file.
